


A Remedy to Cure All Ills

by imaginary_iby



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Hope for the future, M/M, Romance, dealing with cancer in the family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-05
Updated: 2012-09-05
Packaged: 2017-11-13 14:53:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/504699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginary_iby/pseuds/imaginary_iby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you're living amongst werewolves, you inevitably become acquainted with the frenzy of imminent death.  Living with a parent who has cancer, on the other hand... well, you become acquainted with a peculiar crushing weight that keeps you awake at night.  For years, Stiles would have given anything to escape the cancerous claws that took his mother from him, but now that he's faced with creatures who really do exist beyond such pain... well, he has to make a choice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Remedy to Cure All Ills

**Author's Note:**

> Okay. This... is not my usual style. It's extremely heavy, and I usually like fluffy goodness. Basically, what it boils down to is this: my mum has had cancer for about half of my life, and six years ago was given a terminal diagnosis. We've been having a rough time of it, as of late. After a lot of freaking out this afternoon, I decided to put my thoughts into Stiles' mind. I don't know how accurately this story represents his thoughts, but I've seen flashes of his terror and I can't help but feel akin to him.

It’s an unusual kind of life, growing up around cancer. It’s a fourth person in the house, an intruder that everybody is painfully aware of, but can do nothing about. It’s an enemy presence that sleeps under your roof, potters around in your kitchen and reads books on your couch. It’s an evil that tags along when your mum drives you to school, when she takes you shopping for groceries; a paralyzing horror that lurks between the two of you when you sit side by side at the movies.

You feel it, wherever you go. There’s no escaping it, because there’s no escaping your body. You can run from a storm, you can dodge a gun gone wild - but with cancer, no matter what you do, your body goes with you.

Well, it’s not _your_ body. It’s your mum’s. But it feels like it might as well be yours. Because in amongst all the panic that you push down, in amongst all the heartbreak that you ignore, there’s this freezing worry that _you’re next._ You split your time between worrying about _her_ ; and worrying about _yourself._

You lie awake at night, breathing shallow breaths, adrenaline coursing through your veins, shaking fingers flittering over your body as if seeking signs. Lumps. Bumps. Oddities. A speck of colour here, a new little freckle there. You know that it’s important to temper your fear: you’re young, you’re imagining things, but at the same time, you don’t want to be the statistical anomaly.

The secrets build up. _What is this spot? Should I worry about that?_ You gasp for breath, a spark of your brain determinedly reminding you not to make too much noise, so as to avoid detection by your family walking past your room. You can’t talk to them about what’s going on in your mind, you don’t want them to worry. Besides, acknowledging something makes it a possibility.

Your whole body is turning on you. You see the way kids around you touch each other. The way they fling their clothes off, prance around in bikinis or swim trunks, having the time of their lives. You know better than to assume that they don’t have problems, but aren’t _they_ terrified of what lies beneath their skin? Don’t _they_ ever stare up into the murky depths of their ceiling at night, wondering where the hell you _go_ when you don’t exist anymore? Are your thoughts still out there somewhere? You’re so afraid of death, but every second you’re alive is torture. 

You dry your eyes. You force yourself to take a deep breath. You _Just. Stop. Thinking. About. It._ Yes, you have less control over your thoughts than others; Adderall only helps so much, but death is a specific train of thought that you crush down with an iron will. 

The thing is, life goes on, even when she’s gone. You have homework. You have family. You have streets to walk down, and teachers to learn from, and society to be a part of. You can’t spend your days screaming at the top of your lungs. You can’t give in whenever you lose your breath to a panic attack, because you’d be a wreck every minute of every day. The thing is? The world keeps turning around you. People’s patience is not infinite.

You compose yourself. You hop down the stairs, not a care in the world. You fling yourself to the fridge like the ravenous growing boy that you are, a grin on your face. You tease your dad about something silly. La di da, ain’t life grand.

Just as you’re chomping your way through a slice of toast, telling your heart to calm the fuck down, you hear your dad on the phone. Two joggers have found a body in the woods.

Part of you wants to head back upstairs. Your heart is thumping again and you can feel your carefree expression slipping. But the world keeps turning, and you have to be a part of it. You’re a curious teenage boy, and this is interesting, isn’t it? 

Once your dad leaves, you make your way over to Scott’s. As you reach his house, a flush of adrenaline takes over. Panic and pain course through your veins – it’s either start throwing rocks at the night sky, or channel the adrenaline into a burst of energy. Quickly, quickly, up the tree you go, your vibrating limbs happy for the momentary distraction, happy for the outlet.

Panic averted, you linger in the tree, taking deep breaths and pushing away death with all your might.

Suddenly Scott’s there, and you fling yourself down to him, enjoying the way he startles. “I know it’s late, but you’ve gotta hear this. I saw my dad leave twenty minutes ago…”

\-----

Many moons later, and the world has changed considerably. You wonder about what’s going on, just beyond your reach. If there are werewolves, what’s to say that there aren’t other things, too? Ghosts. Heaven. Something beyond death.

You stare up at the ceiling, breathing deeply. You recall the way your fingers used to flit over your body in the cover of darkness, searching for signs of intruders. 

It’s harder to do that, now. Now that there’s a body sleeping next to you, you can’t toss and turn in private. You can’t panic in the shower, you can’t hide behind the noisy beat of water, because werewolf ears pick up on every little erratic heartbeat.

And then one night. One night, you come to a decision. You’re so afraid of death, and you’re so afraid of life, and right there beside you is a remedy for that which ails you. You’re lucky. You’re so lucky. Most people will never know the kind of luck that you’re faced with: most people will never sleep beside a man who can’t get sick, who is free from the medical horrors that have haunted you. Plagued you, really, ever since your mum first came home from the doctor’s office with a grim expression on her face, all those years ago.

And yet… you say no. You know that Derek would turn you, but you say no. You know that for all that he loves that you’re human, if it was your wish to receive the bite, he would oblige.

You breathe in deeply. “I have to take my chances.”

Beside you, he stirs, rubs his cheek into his pillow. “Hmmmm?” he enquires snoozily.

The ceiling stretches darkly above you, but for once it doesn’t seem so oppressive. You still your hands, tucking one into his larger palm. “I can’t accept the bite. I have to take my chances. Like she did.”

He shifts closer to you, you can feel his warmth seeping into your skin. “I know,” he says. “I know.”


End file.
